


And through the sun's fast paling light

by Riv_ika



Series: this was an accident i swear [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dark Woman's A+ Parenting, F/M, Fix-It, Force Visions, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jedi Lineages (Star Wars), M/M, Psychometry, Rated For Violence, Star Wars: Prequel Era Fix-It, and cursing, and tholme's obviously, as always, bc i do what i want, but with a side of mace's too, this is going to focus on yoda's disaster lineage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riv_ika/pseuds/Riv_ika
Summary: Quinlan Vos unknowingly saves the galaxy in his attempts to make his boyfriend smile.(Sure, he doesn't do it by himself, but he started it!)
Relationships: Kit Fisto/Feemor, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos
Series: this was an accident i swear [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907473
Comments: 47
Kudos: 384





	1. in the dark you were a lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 1,751
> 
> Um. I accidentally gave this plot. Sorry? Also, now I have to come up with a coherent timeline, so. This fic takes place right after the other one, so Aayla is ten, while Obi-Wan, Quinlan, and a certain little shit are probably almost 20 years old. Anakin is actually going to be only a year younger than Aayla because I want my sassy siblings and I will get them eventually, I swear, so essentially this means I’m moving Anakin’s age up but everything else is probably about the same. So this is about 5 years before the canon Phantom Menace, which...might never happen now? I haven’t decided. Oh, well, plot will plot as I go. The title is from I Saw You by Joshua Henry Jones Jr, a poem I might use for like three more titles of this tbh. It’s very soft.

“C’mon, Obi-Wan, this is ridiculous--”

“It’s not _ridiculous_ ,” he declares with a pout, an adorable little expression, Quinlan thinks. “Master Yoda says that premonitions can be vital to a Jedi’s duty.”

Quinlan raises a teasing eyebrow. “And what does Master Jinn say?”

Obi-Wan huffs. “Master Qui-Gon is in six feet of the Living Force therefore his opinion on the Unifying Force doesn’t matter.”

“That’s your Grandmaster talking,” he snorts. “And I know it is because I was with you when they argued last time.”

“My Grandmaster may be a pompous ass, but he has a _point,_ ” Obi-Wan argues. “If you practised properly, you might be able to see not just the _past_ of an object, but its _potential future_.”

Quinlan frowns. “Obi, I don’t want to see the future.”

“Maybe not now, but it could come in handy on a mission,” he insists.

His eyes are begging, which is completely unfair because Quinlan is weaker than a Weequay against a Wookiee when it comes to that face. Obi-Wan knows it, too, the little shit. Between him and Aayla, those puppy eyes are going to be the death of him one day.

“Just try, please,” Obi-Wan begs. “For me.”

Quinlan sighs and gives a great big, overdramatic groan. “ _Fine_.”

The smile he gets is almost worth the next _month_ of practice.

(And the memory he picks up of an older Obi-Wan snatching his own lightsaber from an older, snickering version of himself is _definitely_ worth it.)

* * *

Mustafar is...well, it’s shitty, to be sure, though Quinlan probably shouldn’t expect anything less from an entirely volcanic world. He wishes desperately that he hadn’t picked up that trace of ash from their lead on Black Sun operations. Then they could be back on Coruscant and _he_ could be back with Obi-Wan, Aayla, Bant, and Garen.

(He knows for a fact that Tholme is thinking the same right about now, though his list is made up of only Master T’ra. And Aayla, obviously.)

But alas, a Jedi’s duty and all that.

Despite their minimal lead that led here, the Master-Padawan, though soon to be Knighted Padawan, pair are certainly not expecting the immediate roil of _Darkness_ that floods their senses.

Tholme gasps aloud, clasping his apprentice’s shoulder as the boy stumbles over the ramp of their ship. That Darkness is...a lot to take in. It's a festering feeling, something with _claws_ , a mix of rage and deep-seated hatred, the emotions of someone who wasn’t hugged enough of a child. Quinlan is certain it must be a someone as well because the Darkness has a focusing point, a crevasse of infinite sadness and immense suffering.

It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before, not from any criminal mastermind nor regular person. This is a Darkness in the _Force_.

“Master,” Quinlan breathes out with great effort, “what is that?”

Tholme lets out a shuddering breath, equally as difficult. “Something...someone that should not exist, Padawan.” He hesitates, something his boy has rarely ever seen him do in the field-- or off it, frankly. “Send a message to the Council at the highest priority. We should not be here.”

“No, Master Jedi,” says a menacing voice from behind. “You should not.”

Quinlan whirls around just in time to catch a glowing red blade on his own green one.

It’s not in Quinlan’s nature to panic, not in his _training_ , the training that Master Tholme has so painstakingly smacked into his few remaining brain cells. But he does hesitate, which is long enough for the terrifying figure before him to launch him flying backwards, almost into a lava river.

He uses the Force to keep him on the shore, leaping to his feet and rushing to his Master’s aid.

Their opponent is a Zabrak, but not like any Quinlan has ever seen before. He’s red-skinned with black, ominous tattoos all over his body, connecting seamlessly with the double-ended lightsaber hilt he wields.

His eyes, though, they’re _wrong_. They’re bright yellow, a sickening shade.

 _Sith_ , Quinlan thinks before he even properly registers what that means.

A Sith warrior is bearing down on his Master.

The boy roars and rushes at the Zabrak, distracting him long enough for Tholme to dart out of his path. Even as he joins Quinlan, the two are nearly outmatched. He meets them blade for blade, step for step, until he’s slashing across Tholme’s chest in a near-fatal blow.

“MASTER!” Quinlan cries.

He pulls a very Obi-Wan move in that it’s risky as all hell. He flips over the Zabrak’s head and attempts to wrench that lightsaber from his grip with both of his hands _and_ the Force, sending a lash of feedback toward his mind.

It doesn’t keep him down for very long, but it's enough for Quinlan to take his lightsaber, though he drops his own. 

The flashes of misery he receives from the hilt are easy enough to push down, but then a familiar presence echoes from a memory he picks up and he stops. No, that’s not a memory. It’s a potential memory.

_“NO!” Obi-Wan shouts, his vocal cords straining with the effort. Bright red light shines on his face. He shatters it an instant later, something deeply wrong settling inside his soul, something too Dark to be him._

_“KENOBI!”_

_The grief around the holotable is palpable as the telling noises of lightsabers cut through screams. Obi-Wan shuts his eyes, feeling sick._

_Her hand is cold in his, her voice gone silent. He doesn’t dare cry, doesn’t dare show how his heart breaks. And still, those yellow eyes stare down at him._

Quinlan’s hands shake as he grips that lightsaber, that evil thing that creeps into his bones.

That was _not_ Obi-Wan. Not _his_ Obi-Wan, not the perfect, precious man that Quinlan had come to love. That was _broken_. And it made him sick.

The Zabrak ducks for Quinlan’s lightsaber and, seeing the tremors in his hands, grins.

Quinlan lights both ends, holding the hilt before his face, which is lit by that blood-red colour. Something in his eyes glints gold, something in his soul becomes bold, driven by something that hasn’t happened, somethings that may never happen, but by tears that felt so, so real. Obi-Wan Kenobi is the line.

And this bastard is going to cross him.

Quinlan scowls. “Oh, I think the _fuck_ not.”

* * *

The previously calm Mace Windu becomes a wave of concern when the emergency comm comes in. He makes a beeline for the Council Chamber, having left momentarily to speak to Depa, who’s still finding her way as a Jedi Knight. Seeing Quinlan Vos’ code, she follows after him, despite the fact that she’s not technically allowed in the chamber anymore. No one will bat an eye.

The Council goes silent when he enters, the beeping of his commlink enough of an alarm.

Mace answers the call and transfers it to the Council’s system just as the blue silhouette of a thoroughly beaten Quinlan Vos appears, pressing his fingers to his bloodied and broken nose.

“By the Force--” Shaak whispers.

“I need backup--” Quinlan chokes on his own voice, coughing and spitting to the side before turning his attention to the Council. “Master, I need healers and Knights and-- fuck, send everyone. Send-- please--”

“Vos, what happened?” Mace questions, keeping his voice pointedly calm as murmuring echoes throughout the chamber. “Where’s your Master?”

“Passed out, but alive, I think. I can’t tell. My hands--”

His hands are shaking viciously, gloveless. Mace motions for Master Yaddle, who immediately works to send aid to the poor Padawan. He can’t care for his Master properly if he’s fighting off his own injuries _and_ visions he gets by touching him.

“Sent, help has been. How many Knights and Masters does the young one ask for?”

“As many as you can spare,” he breathes out, voice trembling. “We have a-- a situation-- _ow_ , fuck--” He clutches his side with his free hand.

“Quinlan, what in the _Force_ stabbed you?” Depa asks over Mace’s shoulder.

She’s not as out of place as she should be. A young Knight for a mere few years, the Council has already been eyeing her for a future position. The tone she uses with Quinlan, however, is less than that of a Councilor and more of an overprotective sibling. He and his friends used to follow her around like ducklings, waiting for the Senior Padawan to pave the pathways before them until they could do it themselves.

“A head of horns,” he says with as much dry humour as he can manage. “And a lightsaber. Tholme will need a bacta tank--”

“A lightsaber? Found a rogue Jedi, have you?” Yoda asks, despair just visible in the twinge of his ears.

All the Temple’s Jedi are his own, his family. Quinlan, though, is his direct family. Mace sends a message to Qui-Gon before Quinlan can even speak, requesting his presence as soon as possible-- and Obi-Wan’s.

“No, Master, a-- a Sith.”

The Council dissolves into chaos.

“Just listen to me!” Quinlan cries, desperate. “He’s going to--!”

When Master Plo raises his voice, however, they all fall silent, even the young man. “Quinlan. What happened to the attacker?”

With a tap of a few buttons, a figure appears beside Quinlan.

It’s a Zabrak whose wrists are bound in Force inhibitors that are chained to the bottom of the ship, the metal itself resistant to the Force.

“If my Master wasn’t a paranoid bastard--” Quinlan laughs, half a fearful sob. “Couldn’t kill him, wouldn’t-- break his heart--”

(Obi-Wan’s heart, he means. He’d just skimmed the edge of the Dark and pulled back only at the potential memory of Obi-Wan doing the same. He would strike the demon down and still, he would fail. The Dark didn’t mean victory and it certainly didn’t mean Obi-Wan would be safe. Only the light could save him, Quinlan had repeated mentally. Only the light can save Obi-Wan Kenobi.)

His speech is starting to slur as he stammers, shaking his head to try and pull himself together. He’s seen truly terrible things, Mace thinks before he has to let the thought and the grief that comes with it into the Force. Quinlan will be fine. He’ll be safe.

“A Sith…” Ki-Adi-Mundi says gravely. “How can you be sure?”

“Between the red lightsaber and-- and _those_ \--?”

Quinlan tugs on the Zabrak’s horns, forcing him to look up.

Forcing the Council to meet his sickly yellow gaze.

“I’m pretty fucking sure,” Quinlan declares before promptly passing out.


	2. howling ghosts they reappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depa and Mace break the news to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon respectively. Coming to Quinlan and Tholme’s rescue, Masters Feemor Kegre and Kit Fisto, along with the latter’s Padawan, Bant Eerin, discover that two other mysterious Jedi have beaten them to it.
> 
> Word Count: 2,207 (whoops)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero self-control. ZERO. Also every time I introduce a new character I just...go off about them a little, even if they might not be relevant to the story for that long. What is up with that? I also make a rare-pair out of EVERYTHING. Kit and Feemor? Where the fuck did that come from??? I guess I just saw Kit Fisto, the man, the myth, the legend, and thought ‘oh he would flirt Feemor into his grave.’ Like Feemor is plenty cocky and reckless, but he cannot flirt, at least in my mind, so I just kind of...shoved them together. This entire fic is going to be a smattering of Yoda’s disaster lineage dammit. (Chapter title is from King and Lionheart, which was playing as I went to post this so. I guess it's this fic's song now.)

Obi-Wan’s anxiety echoes throughout the halls.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says gently, a reminder rather than a warning.

The boy does his best to breathe deeply, to release it into the Force, though he’s not entirely successful. “Sorry, Master.”

As they walk, Qui-Gon resists the urge to place a hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan is an adult now and can handle his own fears, he knows, especially when it comes to something as simple as a Council summons. Still, sometimes he can’t help but reach out to comfort the young man, remembering a time when he  _ couldn’t _ breathe through his fear.

Qui-Gon will be the first to admit that even he’s having a difficult time today. Mace’s message is...concerning, especially his specific request that Obi-Wan is there as well.

They arrive at the Council Chamber to find Mace and young Depa outside, waiting for them. The Knight bleeds distress into the Force, though her expression hides it well. Mace is wearing his serious face, as always, but he’s significantly more serious than usual, Qui-Gon decides. From the way he tenses, he gathers Obi-Wan can tell the same of his friend.

“Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan,” Mace says tersely, though he doesn’t mean to be rude.

“What is it, Mace? A mission?” Qui-Gon asks immediately.

The Council member glances at his former apprentice, who nods and motions Obi-Wan aside. With a fleeting look at his own Master, Obi-Wan follows her to a quiet corner, where she places her hands on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon looks to his old friend. “Tell me.”

“We received an emergency transmission from Padawan Vos,” he explains quietly, a grimace overtaking his features. “He and Tholme are in...bad shape. They ran into a Darksider, one that Quinlan believes to be a Sith Lord.”

Qui-Gon gawks. “What? The boy must be mistaken! The Sith are long dead--”

He shakes his head. “I believe him. We saw him for ourselves: a Zabrak, about Quinlan and Obi-Wan’s age. The Darkness in him...we could feel it through the transmission, Qui.”

“Great Force,” he breathes out. “And they caught him?”

“Only barely. Both Tholme and Quinlan are unconscious, but the Sith warrior is secured. Master Fisto and Padawan Eerin are on their way to them.”

Across the hall, Obi-Wan frowns. “Please, just  _ tell me _ ! You’re scaring me!”

Depa sighs. “Obi-Wan...Quinlan and Tholme found a Sith Lord on Mustafar.”

His eyes widen and quickly fill with horror, the kind he’s only ever had on the worst of missions, the worst of days. Depa’s hands on his shoulders are grounding, but more so is his faith in the Council, a faith so strong that he doesn’t question the existence of the Sith for even a second.

“Kit and Bant are less than an hour away from them, but--”

“Are they hurt? Are they alright? Did you see Quin--?” The questions pour out of him before he can stop himself, fear clutching at his heart.

“They’re both unconscious and badly injured, but they’re going to be alright, Obi, I’m certain of it,” she says firmly. “You can still feel him, can’t you?”

Obi-Wan shuts his eyes.

His bond with Quinlan is his strongest, stronger than the one he shares with his Master, without a doubt. He can feel his fellow Padawan on the other side, a dim light with how far away he is. His signature is fuzzy, too, the way it always is when he’s asleep or passed out.

When he opens his eyes again, he nods, letting out a deep breath.

_ Quinlan is alive. Quinlan is safe _ , he reminds himself.  _ Letting my fear get the best of me will help no one _ .

Depa pulls him into a hug, letting his head thump against her shoulder. “Breathe, Obi.”

“ _ Obi-Wan _ ,” he corrects half-heartedly.

“Oh, hush,” she huffs. Glancing over him to her former Master, she nods slightly.

_ He’ll be alright _ .  _ They both will _ .

* * *

The cargo bay rumbles as their cruiser attaches to Quinlan’s ship, his precious B-7 freighter that he never shuts up about. He’s the academic type, despite what one might think, and his interest in ships has more to do with numbers than style. His B-7 is his pride and joy, so much so that Obi-Wan sometimes jokes that he loves the ship more than him.

Bant can’t help but think about all the times he’s fawned over it as she and her Master board it, anxiety clutching her chest.

“Breathe, Bantling,” Master Fisto teases lightly. “They’re alive in there.”

The fully-grown Mon Calamari huffs at him. He’s not quite old enough to be her Master, in the opinions of some, as he had been a Knight only a handful of years when he took her on. Bant is grateful that it was him, though. She’d looked up to him when he was a Senior Padawan and she an Initiate; he was Depa’s friend and therefore hers. After Master Tahl’s death, she didn’t think she could forge another training bond, but with him it was easy.

“You heard the Council, Master,” she breathes out, clutching her lightsaber. “Something else is, too.”

“Someone,” he reminds her. “Can you feel him?”

She rolls her eyes a little—it’s a Junior Padawan’s task, really—but goes along with it anyway, reaching out with her senses. Quinlan and his Master’s presences are easily recognisable, as is the roiling darkness of a long-dead monster, but something else is there. It’s a fleeting, skittish sort of light and—wait, it’s not alone. Something bright lingers beside it, shifting and mysterious, but blinding.

“Other Jedi?” she asks, opening her eyes.

Kit hums. “I believe so.”

“We might as well find out,” says a voice behind them.

“Feemor,” Kit greets, all honey and sugar and disgusting. 

An expression crosses his face that makes Bant want to puke, despite her lack of a gag reflex. He’s been making eyes at Master Kegre this whole trip, much to her horror. That’s her  _ best friend’s brother _ , for Force’s sake! The poor archivist turns bright red every time Kit openly flirts with him, but he’s absentmindedly done it back a few times. Bant can’t wait for this mission to be over, even if it means dealing with an injured Quinlan for a few days on their way back to Coruscant. That would be better than this hell, actually.

“ _ Kit _ ,” Bant whines, quietly enough that Master Feemor won’t hear.

He elbows her and continues. “Up for an adventure?”

“You have met my Master, yes?” Feemor replies dryly, his lightsaber already in his hand. “I am an  _ active _ archivist, I’ll remind you. I know my way around a lightsaber.”

Kit grins. “I don’t doubt that. Shall we?”

“We shall,” he declares, more confident in the idea of a fight than a flirty Nautolan.

“Maybe the Sith will kill me,” Bant mutters, more of a prayer than a fear.

_ So dramatic _ , her Master chides through their bond.

She eyes him with as much of a murderous expression as she can manage, summoning up memories of many, many late-night kata lessons that seemed to last forever. He only chuckles, much to her irritation.

(Kit knows, in his heart, that there will soon come a time that he won’t be on the receiving end of that glare every mission. Bant is very close to a Knighthood, which he is proud of, though he’ll miss her deeply. He had gone to Tholme, just before he and Quinlan departed, for advice on letting go of a Padawan. Bant is his first student, after all. Tholme was helpful, though he admitted to his own issues with Quinlan, as Quinlan is more a son to him than any of his other students had been before. Kit wouldn’t say Bant is his daughter, so to say. More of a little sister.)

The doors to Quinlan’s freighter, yet to be named, as Quinlan is ever so picky about the significance of names, slide open, allowing the three Jedi inside.

Their lightsabers lit in their hands, they proceed toward the small medical wing, where Tholme’s signature in the Force pulses weakly, as do the others they’ve sensed. At Kit’s motion, they rush inside, weapons raised as a precaution.

Inside, Quinlan and Tholme are both unconscious on cots. The Sith warrior is chained to the floor still but has slumped forward, unconscious. The only oddities are the two people standing in the middle of this chaos: a Sephi woman with dirty blonde hair and wise grey eyes and a young—possibly? Bant isn’t so great with human ages, they all look the same to her—human male with dark hair, eerily pale eyes, and scars all over both his face and hands.

Feemor immediately disengages his lightsaber. “Master Fay!” he cries, lighting up at the sight of the Sephi woman.

She brightens significantly, turning away from the Sith. “Feemor, a pleasant surprise. And I’ve told you a hundred times already— it’s Aunt Fay to you.”

He crosses the room to hug her, a deeply fond gesture. Beside her, the young human fidgets uneasily, shifting his weight.

“You were sent to collect these three, I assume?” Fay asks as she and Feemor separate.

“Ah, them more than me, I admit,” he chuckles, gesturing to the Master and Padawan behind him. “Master Kit Fisto and his Padawan, Bant Eerin. They were escorting me to an Outer Rim Temple when we were contacted.”

“Master Fay,” Kit greets with a low bow. “I’ve heard many stories.”

“All of them horrendously inaccurate and corrupted by my miserable little brother, no doubt,” she says dryly. “It’s good to meet both of you. This is Knight Jon Antilles. We both felt the Force pull us here.”

Jon gives a nod as a greeting, then realises. “Oh, Fay healed most of their injuries, but the Master could probably still use a bacta tank if you have one.”

Bant’s eyes widen. _Oh!_ _That_ Master Fay! The _legendary_ Master Fay, said to have lived centuries and centuries because the Force has preserved her youth all this time. She was taught by Master Yoda himself! Wait. Did she just call Master _Dooku_ her miserable little brother? Obi-Wan is going to _love her_ , Bant decides.

“I’ll get Tholme,” Kit offers quickly. “Bant—”

“I’ll get Quin,” she finishes, rushing over to her friend. He’s in bad shape, but apparently better than before if the stories about Fay are to be believed. “You always get into the worst trouble,” she chides with a huff.

Jon appears as she lugs the Kiffar boy off the bed. “Can I help?” he asks quietly, concern etched into his voice.

“Please,” she breathes out. “He really needs to lay off the Jogan fruit.”

He smiles at that and pulls Quinlan’s other arm over his shoulder, as Bant has done the same with the first. They follow after Kit, who has lifted Tholme into his arms with ease, leaving Feemor and Fay with the Sith.

“You know,” says Feemor just as they disappear, “I don’t think I’ve fully appreciated the irony of you rescuing Quinlan.”

“Oh?”

He grins. “Obi-Wan’s boyfriend.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Fay drawls, curiosity painting her voice as well as mischief. “The great-nephew I have yet to meet. That  _ is _ a turn of fate, isn’t it?”

Feemor hums in agreement then turns to the tattooed Zabrak he’s been avoiding until now. With a sigh, he kneels before the— well, he’s hardly a man. He kneels before the boy, examining him curiously. As an archivist, it’s a great honour to be one of the first to see the first Sith in centuries, but as a Jedi, it’s also a great burden.

“So this is our greatest enemy,” he says, deep despair in his voice.

Fay hums. “I think that conclusion is hasty. The boy is Dark, I have no doubt of that, but he is...unfocused. He doesn’t have the drive of a Sith Lord, the plans.”

Feemor frowns, looking up at her. “An apprentice, then? That…” He sighs. “That is a dark thought, Aunt Fay.”

“I dread to discover the truth, but I fear what may happen if we don’t,” she says.

“If there are other Sith…” he cuts himself off, not wanting to consider the full thought.

It’s Fay’s turn to sigh as she kneels beside her great-nephew, a hand on his arm. “Dark times are upon us again. I’m only sorry it was during your time.”

“Aunt Fay,” he says gently, putting his hand atop hers. His eyes are dark with grief, a sadness for her that is completely misplaced, in her opinion. “I’m sorry you have to do this again.”

She isn’t quite old enough to have seen the last war between the Sith and Jedi, not even Yoda is, but she has seen Darkness like no other, suffered like no other. She has watched many things and people fall to time, to Darkness, to themselves. So much has she been through and so much will she still see. Feemor only wishes that her long life did not mean such intense and endless grief.

“As am I,” she murmurs, drawing her great nephew’s Force presence close. “But we shouldn’t wallow. We have your brother’s boyfriend to rescue and a Sith warrior to muzzle.”

Feemor sighs, a smile creeping onto his face. “Now I’ve really seen it all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D happy update! i'm going to go watch the mandalorian season 2 so I may get distracted, but let's hope it doesn't last two weeks so I can get the next chapter up lmao  
> (for those of you also reading the Cody/Fay fic, I already have that prewritten for next week, so don't panic!)


	3. i can't read your mind but the bruises don't lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Halls of Healing, Quinlan’s recovery room is more like a revolving door. Fay meets the rest of her lineage and introduces Jon to a few—including her little brother, who turns tail and runs at the sight of her.
> 
> Word Count: 2,679 (bet ur ass these will get longer as we go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me much longer to write than I expected but boy was it worth it. Fay and Dooku have the funniest fucking dynamic then you add Nico to it and it’s infinitely better. I think blackkatmagic was the first to write with Nico/Dooku so credit to her for this amazing ship. Honestly, I couldn’t resist writing them when I realised that Dooku and Fay are gonna be Important in this fic lmao, but idk how often it’ll come up so I’m not tagging it for now. Anyway, here’s the chapter!! Soft Quinobi & Aayla content incoming :D Lots of Fay this chapter, though, just bc I wanted to capture her dynamic with the rest of the lineage. As we move forward, Quinlan, Obi-Wan, Jon, and Maul will probably become the focus. Title is from Bruises by Transviolet

For once in Quinlan’s miserable life, the Halls of Healing are a welcome sight. He’s pretty good about coming in for treatment, at least compared to his boyfriend’s family, but that doesn’t mean he has any fondness for the place. Healers are mean and the smell of bacta makes him sick.

This trip is even more annoying because they won’t let him see his Master and people are constantly coming through his room, even though he’s been there less than an hour. Bant hasn’t left, thankfully, with Kit and Feemor lingering outside in the hall. Master Fay, on the other hand, no one has even attempted to move from her position in the corner of the room, _lurking_ , Quin would say, if she wasn’t completely full of grace and poise.

It’s only thanks to Bant that he even knows who she is. And it’s thanks to her that he is now terrified.

He does _not_ need yet _another_ shovel talk from one of Obi-Wan’s crazy lineage members. The one from Jinn was downright scary and the one from Feemor was even _worse_. He’s just glad Yoda and Dooku have decided to pass on threatening his life. Fay looks like she won’t be nearly as merciful.

The smile she shoots him when he stares just a little too long confirms it. He’s karked.

When the door flies open and a head of red hair rushes in, Quinlan’s heart leaps.

“Quin!” Obi-Wan breathes out, relieved, as he drops himself on the side of his boyfriend’s bed.

Quinlan smiles and moves to embrace him as best he can, side stinging only a little as he rests his forehead on his shoulder. “Hey, Obes,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“ _Hey?_ You find a fucking Sith _Lord_ and all you have to say is hey!?” he draws back to glare Quinlan down. “I’m going to kill you!”

“Please do. It’s better than watching your brother and Kit flirt,” he begs.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen, _horrified_. “What?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Bant groans from her chair.

Quinlan kisses the shock from Obi-Wan’s expression, able to feel him relax instantly. “I’m okay,” he sighs against his lips.

“Although he wouldn’t have been if Jon and I were any later.”

Obi-Wan leaps two feet out of his skin, which has Quinlan snickering. The redhead whirls around to face Fay, undecided as to whether he should get up and bow. She waves him off immediately, however, a knowing grin on her face.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, I have heard very much about you and all of it good.” She pauses, considering. “Most of it, but I tend to ignore my little brother.”

He looks terrified at what she may have heard. “Pardon, Master, but I don’t, um, who are you? Exactly?” he stammers out.

“That would be Yoda’s former Padawan, Master Fay,” Quinlan stage-whispers.

Fay grins. “But you can call me Aunt Fay, as can you, Vos, so long as Obi-Wan still likes you.”

Obi-Wan chokes on his breath, shooting wide-eyed looks between the two. “Who—?”

“Feemor,” Quinlan says immediately. “Jackass.”

“Rude,” his boyfriend chides, poking his shoulder. He looks back at Fay. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master— Aunt?— Fay,” he stammers. 

Quinlan smiles innocently. “Thanks for saving my sorry ass.”

“It was no trouble,” she chuckles. “Although you may change your mind when the Council summons you.”

His face falls immediately, heart sinking with it. Kark. He’ll have to tell the Council all about what happened. Sure, the part about fighting the Sith will be easy to explain, but not so much about the readings he got off the Zabrak’s lightsaber. He doesn’t _want_ to tell them that, to admit that this Sith Lord may have it out for Obi-Wan _specifically_ in a few years. Furthermore, he doesn’t want them to know how he danced at the edge of the Darkness the Sith had summoned, how close he’d been to...

“Quin!” a tiny voice cries as the door slides open.

Aayla is half-way through a Force-boosted jump onto Quinlan’s bed when Obi-Wan catches her with the Force, letting her hover there with a pout on her face.

“ _Aayla_ ,” he chides, “his _injuries_.”

“My _hugs_ ,” she whines in the same tone of voice. “Let me down!”

“Only if you’re gentle.” As if he isn’t already letting her down.

The young Twi’lek drags herself onto Quinlan’s bed and then tackles him in a hug, making him wince a little. Obi-Wan huffs, but his boyfriend waves him off warmly as he hugs his future Padawan back. Her lekku twitch worriedly, the end of one wrapping itself around his wrist as if to check his pulse.

“You okay?” she asks, eyes shining with concern.

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m okay,” he reassures. “Tholme will be fine, too.”

“I know, I saw him! Master T’ra and Master Qui-Gon are with ‘im, but he’s still asleep,” she bemoans before looking over at Master Fay. “Hi, Master Fay!”

Fay smiles softly. “Hello. What’s your name?”

“Aayla Secura!” she declares. “Master Kit told me you’re Obi’s aunt, so you’re my aunt, too! Right?”

Quinlan chokes. “Aayla—”

“If you’d like,” the venerated Master agrees easily.

Maybe Quinlan was a bit off in assuming she’d threaten him. She seems...ridiculously pleased at his existence, actually. Maybe she’s messing with him.

“And, remember, that goes for you, too,” she tells Quinlan amusedly. “I’ll leave you all be and go find my little brother to harass, I think. I wish you a smooth recovery.”

“We’ll see you soon, won’t we?” Obi-Wan asks, fidgeting slightly.

She nods. “Of course, dear nephew, I won’t be far.”

After that, she departs, Bant following her since Quinlan is no longer alone. She and Kit need to give their report to the Council soon, after all, though they may be late; Kit has poor Feemor red in the face again, though he’s smiling.

Obi-Wan and Aayla remain with Quinlan, the latter curling up in his lap.

“I bet the whole Temple is in an uproar, huh?” Quinlan asks as he gently massages Aayla’s lekku, both of which twitch happily at the attention.

“An understatement,” Obi-Wan huffs. “The Council wanted to keep the whole affair under wraps, so naturally the entire population knows.”

He snorts but quickly sobers. “And the Sith?”

“In the detainment levels and closely guarded,” he informs him quietly. “They haven’t decided what to do with him yet.”

The quiet is for Aayla’s benefit, as the 10-year-old is distracted by a stolen datapad rather than their conversation. Quinlan would rather her _not_ go exploring to try and find the creepy Zabrak. In this case, he has no doubt she’d want to go find the natural enemy of the Jedi and maybe glare at him for an hour or so. She’s too much of a troublemaker for her own good.

“Some want to hand him over to the Senate,” Obi-Wan scoffs. “Others think we should throw him in a prison and forget he exists.”

Quinlan grimaces. “Equally terrible options.”

He nods before carefully leaning against Quinlan’s shoulder and sighing. “Depa thinks it’s an opportunity to pull away from the Senate. He may not be the only Sith out there and, if that’s true, we can use the excuse to get ourselves out of their pocket.”

“It’s always about politics, huh?” he says, annoyed. “But she has a point. Too many of those Black Sun leads come back to Coruscant.”

It’s a frequent conversation with the Padawans of their generation: independence from the Senate. They’re the most openly progressive age of Jedi in a long time, much to the chagrin of the older Masters, so the topics of their independence and the general decline of the Jedi Order are bound to come up. A handful of Masters on the Council, including Masters Windu and Plo, have suggested change, but there’s simply too much to think about, too many other things to handle.

Quinlan thinks that’s a lame excuse. Part of him wants this to be the last straw. The changes that are coming from the return of the Sith will be monumental at best, so they might as well shift the rest of the ground while they’re at it.

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice suddenly soft.

Quinlan snaps out of his thoughts, tilting his head. “You know I am.”

His boyfriend rolls his eyes. “I meant up _here_ ,” he clarifies, gently tapping his temple. “You just fought a _Sith Lord_.”

“To be honest,” he says with a shrug, “I’m kind of ignoring it until I can have an existential crisis.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“But it does sound familiar, doesn’t it?” Quinlan asks, shooting him a glare.

“I hate you,” the ginger spits back as soon as it hits him. “I’ll smother you with your pillow.”

Aayla immediately sits up. “No! I _need_ him.”

“Well, if you really do…” he sighs overdramatically. “...I suppose you can live for now, Quin.”

He snickers. “Thanks, I love you, too.”

Obi-Wan beams, a light blush painting his pale cheeks. “I do,” he says. “Love you. I’m glad you’re okay.” He leans forward to kiss him slowly.

“Ewwww,” Aayla whines.

She crawls in between them, shoving them apart with small hands even as they burst into laughter. When they’ve separated, she crosses her arms.

“That’s _gross_. I’m right _here!_ ”

“It’s your fault, remember?” Quinlan teases, tickling her sides.

Obi-Wan laughs as she shrieks, trying to claw her way out of his arms, and Quinlan thinks it must be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Aayla punches him for the thought.

A hallway away, Fay enters Tholme’s recovery room. The old Master floats in a bacta tank, hardly looking like himself with his pale skin and prosthetics removed. Master T’ra Saa has nodded off in a pulled-up chair, but Qui-Gon remains awake, lingering near the doorway. He nearly jumps when Fay enters.

“Aunt Fay!” he exclaims before glancing guiltily at T’ra.

T’ra sleeps on, so Fay motions for him to follow her out into the hall, chuckling at his lack of composure. He’s so different from his Master and it’s always jarring to remember.

Once outside, Qui-Gon greets her with a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Qui,” she says, grinning. “How’s Tholme?”

“Better than when you found him, from what I understand. You’ve been missed in the Temple, Aunt Fay,” he tells her, eyes shining with mischief—the only thing recognisably similar about them.

She laughs loudly. “You are _such_ a liar. Does Yan even know I’m here?”

“I may have left that out,” he suggests with false innocence. “Last I saw, he was with Mace at the front desk.”

He offers her his arm and she _grins_ , an expression that matches her presence in the Force; her light is subdued, but purposefully, hiding something ridiculously powerful, something _other_ that’s difficult for anyone to put their finger on. Fay takes her nephew’s arm gleefully, allowing him to lead the way.

“Feemor said you arrived with a Padawan in tow,” Qui-Gon mentions without any smooth transition.

As much of a diplomat as he is, he hasn’t and never will need to use those skills with Fay. The only one who truly suffers in her presence is Yan Dooku. And perhaps Yoda, on occasion, but he puts up an excellent facade.

“Not my Padawan, I’m afraid. And he’s been a Knight for nearly five years now.”

Qui-Gon frowns. “Five years? Feemor said he was _Obi-Wan’s_ age.”

Fay sighs, a grimace crossing her expression. A wave of frustration comes over her, but she breathes through it. “Jon. His is a long story and one I’ll have to tell you another time.” Then, she smiles. “I did meet that boy of yours. He’s _adorable_.”

“He is,” he chuckles. “And much too smart for me. I fear I’d have ruined him if Feemor hadn’t come along and knocked some sense into me.”

“For all our talents, we are all susceptible to pride,” she hums. “That boyfriend of his—Quinlan Vos. What do you think of him?”

Qui-Gon grins. “If you’re thinking of threatening him, you won’t be the first.” She laughs at that, waving off the idea. “He’s a menace to society, but he’s an excellent Jedi. Getting out of trouble is almost as easy for him as getting into it is in the first place. And he loves Obi-Wan very much.”

“That I could tell.” Fay sighs. “Oh, young love. Always more fun from the outside, isn’t it?”

“Most certainly,” he snorts.

Both fall silent when other voices echo from down the way. They share a deeply amused and excited look at the sound of a familiar pompous ass speaking politely with the Master of the Order.

They turn the corner and spot Dooku, standing with Mace and Depa, the latter of whom’s spine is completely rigid. When it comes to composure and stature, there is no one better at looking put together than Depa Billaba, whether it’s true in the moment or not. She’s the first to notice them, glancing their way, which is enough for Mace to turn his head.

Not one to fall behind, Dooku follows their gazes and his face _blanches_ —Qui-Gon would say he goes snow-white, in fact.

“There you are, little brother!” Fay says, sickly sweet. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Without another word, Dooku turns on his heel and darts from the Halls. He doesn’t do anything so undignified as run, but he’s certainly _speeding_ , his cape whooshing behind him in a significantly less magnificent manner than usual. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Fay declares, removing her arm from Qui-Gon’s.

She doesn’t so much chase him as she does dance between the spaces between them, skipping through the Force like it’s child’s play. Mace watches with dry amusement, but his Padawan is gawking at Dooku’s behaviour. Qui-Gon chuckles, watching as his aunt catches up to his Master.

Fay appears in front of Yan and drags him into an unwilling hug, making him yelp.

“I’ve so _missed you_ ,” she teases.

Back at the front room of the Halls, Depa covers her mouth with a hand, trying desperately not to get on Dooku’s bad side by laughing.

Without warning, the Force pops beside her and a young man appears.

“ _Sith fucking hells_ —!” she yelps, jumping away.

The young man turns bright red and steps back to give her space. “My apologies,” he murmurs, bowing his head. “I was looking for Fay—”

Mace only gestures down the hall, where Dooku, looking like a wet tooka, is getting smothered by his older sister. The young man, presumably Jon, smiles.

“Oh,” he says simply.

Fay spots him over Dooku’s shoulder and waves. “Jon! Come meet Yan.”

Dooku grumbles about it, but Jon, holding back snickers, nods and makes a beeline for them. Qui-Gon laughs, following behind his would-be cousin.

“Yan, Jon Antilles. Jon, Yan Dooku,” Fay introduces shortly. When Qui-Gon approaches, she gestures toward him. “Yan’s former Padawan, Qui-Gon. Quinlan’s boyfriend, Obi-Wan, is _his_ Padawan.”

Jon nods and bows shortly to both. “It’s an honour to meet you, Masters. Fay talks about you often.”

“Oh, _does she_?” Dooku grumbles, glaring at his sister.

“Don’t be like that, Yani,” she chides. A thought occurs to her. “Oh! Nico sent this.”

She pulls a comm from her utility belt and hands it to Dooku, who glares at it as if it’s personally offended him. Reluctantly, he opens the message.

He looks up with furrowed eyebrows. “This just says ‘fuck you,’ Fay.”

Fay shrugs. “You know how he is. He’s busy with Tae, as well, darling thing. You should meet him, he’s lovely.”

“Any relative of Diath’s is no doubt the _opposite_ of lovely,” Dooku mutters.

Jon frowns. “You’ve married him _twice_. Master,” he tacks on belatedly.

Qui-Gon snickers, which earns him a jab from his former Master. “You’ll learn not to question their sense nor sanity, young Antilles.”

“I hope not,” he whispers, eyes wide.

Fay cackles and wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Welcome to the lineage, my dear Jon. Shall we go find my Master?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy update!! (i'm in a huge mandalorian mood after the new episode and star wars requests are open on my tumblr @generallynerdy if you'd like to go send me some,,,)


	4. i was left to my own devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinlan and Obi-Wan have a semi-quiet morning before the inevitable report to the Council. Meanwhile, Jon gets up to some trouble, only to find that Aayla Secura had the same idea. The two unlikely friends discover that Jon may know more about the Sith Lord than even he realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Writing more soft Quinobi as a coping mechanism? Haaaaaaaha,,ha,,, Anyway. They’re adorable and Fay is a proud vodka aunt. Quinlan’s troubles are only going to multiply from here, btw. :) Also, Aayla and Jon as unlikely buddies is so funny to me. The amount of shenanigans they’re going to get into...and add Maul, Obi-Wan, and Quinlan...I’m so excited for this jsdlfkjdfkj  
> (Title is from Pompeii by Bastille)

For the next 24 hours, Quinlan is confined to the Halls of Healing, so Obi-Wan stays as well. Aayla has to return to the creche, but she promises fiercely to visit soon—and he believes her. 

When he comes to on his second day home, Quinlan is met with Master Fay in the corner of the room.

He squints at her suspiciously.

She simply waves a hand, a small smile on her face.

Quinlan shifts in his cot as best he can, though Obi-Wan’s weight on his shoulder is difficult to move around. His boyfriend is tucked into his side, clutching his sleep-clothes like a lifeline as he snores. He’s a cuddler, that one, and it’s adorable. It would be even more adorable if Quinlan’s arm wasn’t falling asleep.

Still, he kisses the redhead’s forehead and holds him closer, unable to help himself. He nudges him in the Force, too, sending a wave of _calm-peace_ that makes him shift a little and mumble a pleased noise into Quinlan’s side.

Fay sighs—not at them, he’s sure—and moves to the chair beside their cot, sitting down carefully. “The Council wants to see you. I convinced them to wait until morning, but yours is the only report other than Tholme’s they have yet to hear. And the most important.”

Quinlan grimaces and looks back at Obi-Wan.

He’s always stressed out of his mind when he’s awake. But in his sleep—which he hardly gets—he’s perfectly relaxed, perfectly calm. He wants it to last a little longer.

“You could let him sleep,” Fay suggests softly.

He shakes his head immediately, ever fond. “He worries. Just...just a few more minutes?” he asks quietly, regretting how childish the question is.

She smiles, standing once more. “I’ll go find breakfast for the two of you.” The way she says it implies that she’ll take her time. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“Just an intense dislike for spicy foods,” he says with a snort. “Obi loves them.”

“Noted,” she chuckles. “I’ll be back in...oh, ten minutes or so.”

Quinlan nods as she leaves, running a distracted hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. He’ll wait a while before waking him, maybe five minutes.

It’s a bad idea. His mind slips toward what he saw on Mustafar, the images the lightsaber gave to him. He runs his thumb down the length of Obi-Wan’s jawline, remembering a full beard and stress wrinkles that didn’t fit. The grief that was etched into his face, the _pain_...Quinlan never wants to see that again, not on his face. He’s too good, too undeserving of that suffering.

He clutches his boyfriend close. That—that _thing_ is never going to hurt him like that. Not while Quinlan is still breathing.

(As a Jedi, he knows his duty is to fight the Sith. As a person, he wants to protect Obi-Wan. It just so happens that he can do both this time.)

“Mm. You’re thinking too loud.”

Quinlan draws his shields up immediately, going back to petting the sleepy young man’s hair. “Sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his head.

Drowsily, Obi-Wan pulls his boyfriend’s arm around himself, running patterns down his wrist. “Y’okay?”

“I’m fine, dork,” he teases. “Sleep well?”

“Perfectly, thank you.” The last word breaks on a long yawn, his eyes slowly opening.

Quinlan snickers and doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that he looks ridiculously cute like this. Obi-Wan stretches out like a cat, carefully flopping on top of Quinlan while avoiding his injuries. As he’s getting comfortable, he reaches up to kiss him, sweet and soft.

Quinlan hums into the kiss, poking Obi-Wan when he pulls away. “Good morning.”

Burying his face into Quinlan’s neck, he huffs. “You know how I feel about mornings and still you say _that_. You’re jinxing it.”

“Mm, yeah, the Council beat me to it,” he says, half-frustrated, half-amused.

He groans. “No. I’ve kidnapped you. You can’t go.”

“I don’t think they’re going to pay a ransom, Obes.”

“I demand a vacation or you’re staying forever,” he argues, his breath tickling Quinlan’s neck.

Soft laughter passes Quinlan’s lips. “You’re very intimidating, babe, but Master Windu’s scary face beats yours.”

Obi-Wan quickly gets his revenge by kissing his neck, eliciting a squeak.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave a hickey—” If he has to face the Council with a _hickey_...well, he’ll take it in stride but he’d rather not have to in the first place.

Grinning, Obi-Wan pulls back. “I won’t. _This_ time.”

“I don’t know where people get the idea that you’re a goody-two-shoes,” Quinlan mutters, interrupted by his boyfriend’s insistent kiss. When he pulls away first, Obi-Wan huffs, offended. “Your aunt is bringing us breakfast, so don’t get any ideas.”

“ _You_ were the one with ideas!” he protests, reaching up past his dreadlocks to tap his temple. “I could hear them.”

Quinlan smiles, all teeth and unrepentant. “You didn’t shut off the bond.”

He flushes red and flicks him, although gently. “Shut up.”

“Never,” he says, a firm declaration as he kisses him again. “Now, _up_ , you disaster, before your aunt comes in and you get embarrassed.”

Obi-Wan sticks his tongue out, offended, but does remove himself from the cot anyway. Moments later, Fay enters, a tray in each hand.

“Good morning, nephew. I hope you slept well,” she greets, handing Obi-Wan one of them and Quinlan the other.

“I had a very comfortable pillow,” he says with a small smile.

Quinlan rolls his eyes and takes a bite of the meal, humming appreciatively. “Thanks for the breakfast, Aunt Fay.”

She seems to smile brighter at the title. “Of course.”

“Say,” he continues after swallowing, “where’s Antilles?”

Obi-Wan brightens at the mention. “Master Qui-Gon told me about him, but neither of us have gotten to meet him properly. Is he around?”

“Ah, he’s off exploring,” she explains fondly. “He’s never been to the Temple before.”

Both boys’ eyes widen. “ _Never_?” Quinlan asks.

She sighs, a sudden grief in her expression that wasn’t there before. “Jon was raised by...an unconventional Master. He’s been in the Outer Rim his entire life, so I’m afraid he’s never had young friends, either.”

Obi-Wan grins. “We can change that. Can’t we, Quin?”

“So long as you don’t mind us getting him into trouble,” Quinlan supplies helpfully.

Fay laughs. “He gets into plenty by himself; a little more can’t hurt. I’m sure you’ll all get along.” Pausing, she frowns. “I do wonder where he’s gotten off to, though.”

* * *

 _I shouldn’t be here_ , Jon thinks two seconds before ducking around the corner anyway. _I shouldn’t be here_.

The thought doesn’t stop him, though he knows it should. Something had taken hold of him when he found out where the Sith Lord is supposed to be; call it curiosity, call it familiarity, but it’s impossible to resist, even as his former Master’s chiding echoes in his head. 

The punishment for this kind of insolence would be severe if she were here. Well, the Council might have his head, if Dark Woman is anything to go by. Then again, they could be like Fay or Nico, who have never laid so much as a hand on Jon. Or like Knol, who cut the hand off someone who dared to try, much to his horror. In any case, he thinks—now that he’s met a handful of Temple Jedi—that he can’t assume that all of them will be like her. He... _hopes_ there aren’t any like her.

Suppressing a shiver, Jon creeps down the hall of mostly unused, ray-shield covered cells.

Just because they won’t punish him like Dark Woman doesn’t mean that the Council won’t punish him for being here. Only Council members are supposed to be seeing the Sith right now, but...well, he feels like the Force is pulling him here.

 _The Dark side_ , his Master would hiss. _There’s too much of it in you. Push it aside._

Jon shakes the thought away. This isn’t Darkness. He’s _sure_ it isn’t Darkness pulling him here. At least...he thinks so. Maybe.

He pulls his shields tighter, just in case, as he approaches the deepest level of the Jedi Temple that’s still in use. It’s here that Darkness roils behind a red ray-shield, completely contained in the heart of the Temple. The cell numbs the Sith’s sense of the Force, or at least his ability to stretch it beyond the three walls and ray-shield, but that doesn’t stop others from being able to sense him. This far down into the Temple, however, most of the resident Jedi are blissfully unaware of his building rage.

With a deep breath, Jon comes to stand in front of the cell, only to find that the Sith is fast asleep in his bunk. He’s turned away from the ray-shield, carefully hidden from any passerbys.

Jon lets out a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding.

He’d gotten a pretty good look at the Sith back on Vos’ ship, as vicious as he was in his attempts to escape his chains. But looking at him now is almost...disappointing. He’s hardly terrifying or intimidating. All Jon sees is a Zabrak about his age.

And yet the Darkness in him is _overwhelming_.

 _Who did this to you?_ Jon thinks, grief drowning his soul.

He has no doubt that someone pushed him to this edge, this Darkness that envelops him. The rage and the pain is _forced_ , unnatural in a way that’s nauseating.

But there’s something underneath it, he realises, nudging just a bit in an effort to keep from waking him. There’s something else, something not quite Darkness but not quite light either. It’s enough—just _barely enough_ —to give Jon hope.

A clatter comes from behind him, making him leap out of his skin.

As he whirls around, a tiny voice gasps.

Jon comes face to face with a little blue Twi’lek, whose horrified expression matches his own. 

_Oh, Aayla,_ he thinks desperately. He’d met her the night before, thanks to Fay, who’d insisted on him meeting every member of her lineage, which apparently included the little one, as she planned on being Quinlan Vos’ Padawan. If all that he’s heard from Bant about the Kiffar is true, he doesn’t know if Aayla is going to enjoy it as much as she thinks she is.

From down the hall, voices and footsteps echo. Distressed, Jon motions the girl toward him. She frowns, shoulders set.

He glances pointedly down the hall and motions again. With a huff, she follows, letting him tuck her under his robe and close to his side. Shutting his eyes, he lets out a deep, focusing breath before reaching out to the Force. Bending light is a rare and difficult talent, but his Master made sure he was capable of it. She damn near beat it into him.

His skin burns with the thought of using one of _her_ abilities, but Jon continues, bending both light and sound over his and Aayla’s forms just as two Knights, tasked with guarding the detention levels, appear.

They depart moments later, having seen nothing and no one.

Jon releases the illusion, tripping over himself a little as he releases Aayla’s shoulder. She frowns and turns to check on him, but her eyes go wide, filled with terror.

Instinct stepping in, Jon shoves her behind him and turns on his heel.

The Sith is right by the ray-shield, eyeing them both with a tilted head. If he weren’t a Sith Lord, it might be taken as an innocent curiosity from a regular Zabrak.

Jon’s pale gaze meets his yellow one and, for a moment, a memory strikes: green-grey eyes, a red planet, bloody horns, and his Master’s disappointment hanging in the air like a rancid smell. He doesn’t wince, only because the Sith is straightening behind the ray-shield like he caught it, too.

When the Sith finally speaks, it’s quiet and raspy. “You,” he says, a realisation.

Aayla’s eyes get impossibly wider as she looks between both of them, her hand tightly clutching the sleeve of Jon’s robe.

A shiver goes down Jon’s spine, which he firmly ignores. He doesn’t let himself look away from the Sith, though he holds out a hand to Aayla, who takes it instantly. Conjuring an image of the Room of a Thousand Fountains—his last stop before this—he takes a deep breath.

Folding two points to bring himself to the other is easy enough, as is taking Aayla with him, but it’s significantly more exhausting after his little light-bending trick.

They both stumble into the grass, but Jon collapses completely, falling to his knees.

“Are you okay?” Aayla asks frantically, kneeling beside him and lifting his arm to rest around her shoulder.

He nods half-heartedly. “Just tired. I’ll be okay.”

“But the _Sith_ ,” she says, sounding worried for both of them, “he _knew you_.”

Jon reaches around, puts a hand on both her shoulders, and shakes his head furiously. “You can’t tell anyone about that, Aayla.”

“What!? But—”

“ _Please_ ,” he begs. “I-I need time to figure this out, okay? It won’t hurt anyone—not knowing, I mean. It’s not important.”

Aayla frowns, crossing her arms. “What if it’s important but you don’t _know_ it’s important?”

“Then I’ll tell Master Fay,” he says immediately.

She shifts uneasily. “Promise?”

Jon hesitates, but nods. “Promise.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when she holds out a hand, her little finger extended. “You have to _pinky promise_ ,” she declares fiercely.

“Oh,” he says, a sheepish little smile crossing his face. “Why?”

“Because it’s...because it’s better than a promise!”

“Okay.” He holds out his little finger, letting her entwine her own with his. “Pinky promise.”

As soon as their hands drop, Aayla’s face falls. “But, um...how did you—how did you do that thing? Where they didn’t see us?”

He hesitates, remembering how his Master explained it to him. “I used the Force to bend light around us, so we weren’t visible to them anymore.”

“Quin does that!” she says excitedly. “Master Tholme taught him and he’s gonna teach me.”

“You’ll be very good at it, I’m sure,” Jon replies genuinely. “But do us both a favour and wait until you’re a Padawan to start trying.”

She snickers. “I can’t _promise_.”

“I thought so,” he says with a faux sigh. Then, his expression becomes serious. “Stay out of the detention levels, though, Aayla. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

The pout that comes across her face is unfairly adorable. “Neither should you! Only the Council is s’pposed to see him!”

Jon winces. “Alright, neither of us should’ve gone. But I can protect myself against a Sith Lord. What would you have done if he found a way to escape?”

“He _can’t_ , silly,” she says, her unshakeable amount of faith in the Temple clear.

“Just—Just try to be safe,” he sighs. “Please don’t go down there alone.”

The sad way he says it makes her deflate. “Okay. But you don’t go alone either. Aunt Fay will be sad.”

Jon smiles softly. She says that like she’s his aunt, too, like he’s their family, which makes him ridiculously embarrassed. He’s not Fay’s Padawan, after all, and Dark Woman isn’t anywhere close to their lineage. But...But it’s nice, thinking that they might consider him a family friend, at least. He likes Fay and Grandmaster Yoda and Master Qui-Gon. Master Dooku is...interesting. Frankly, he can’t wait to meet Obi-Wan and Quinlan—properly, this time.


End file.
